


Antichristmas

by Thyra279



Series: BT Tower Telephone Group E [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Bedbuggers, Bickering, Canon-Typical Blasphemy, Christmas, Church POV, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fluff, For no reason whatsoever, Humor, I don't know what happened here, If you have a weird sense of humor, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, aziraphale - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:28:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26649022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thyra279/pseuds/Thyra279
Summary: It's Christmas in Covent Garden! An angel and a demon try to join in.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: BT Tower Telephone Group E [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1937872
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31





	Antichristmas

"…I mean, ngghk. I'm all in favour of chopping down some misbehaving conifers in general terms. What's odd is keeping them about the house for a few weeks before you put'em through the shredder. That's where all the fun starts, believe you me."

"Oh yes, of course. I thoroughly believe you do all manner of  _ unspeakably _ evil things to the houseplants. Now what would you say to some chestnuts?"

"…See now, when you say it like that, it very much sounds like you don't."

"I assure you I do, my dear. Most definitely. Vile, positively ruthless things. Oh,  _ look _ , churros!..."

It was a London Christmas night so platonically idealistic of a London Christmas Night that it bordered on the unbelievable. The dulcet notes from a mediocre choir wafted out from the church of St. Paul's, drawing Christmas shoppers of all and no faiths towards it with the promise of a moment's respite from other people. The weather, too, did its best to draw the shoppers inside: It was behaving exactly as one would expect it to, i.e. not at all, just windy and drizzly enough to make it miserable, just warm enough to make cosy hats and gloves too uncomfortable.

St. Paul's Church, which had suffered the indignity of living in the shadow of St. Paul's  _ Cathedral _ for almost its entire life, took revenge this December by broadcasting its existence so furiously that the light beaming out through its stained-glass windows cast the old chewing gum stains and murky puddles of Covent Garden in a truly magical, supernatural glow.

No one had told it that no such thing as magic or the supernatural existed in this day and age, it seemed.

In the background of this picture-perfect scene, flustered parents brawled with frustrated tourists over the last last-minute presents in the fancy boutiques of Covent Garden.

In the immediate foreground, a little too close for comfort, a wise old one-legged streetpigeon battled a nearly-drowned tailless rat for a stray bit of week-old Bratwurst from the Christmas market nearby.

Somewhere in-between, an angel promenaded across the square bickering about nothing in particular with his demon, just the way they liked it.

Unlike the humans around them, they paid no attention to poor old St. Paul, walking away from the church in unspoken agreement where the humans flocked towards it. Besides, they'd met the original back in the day, and that had been more than enough for even an eternal lifetime.

The demon's shoulders were up around his neck, fingers stuffed into the tiny pockets of his very, very tight jeans in an attempt to shield him from the cold.

He'd been offered the angel's coat a total of eleven times before Aziraphale gave up.

Said coat now held a half-full paper bag of roasted chestnuts in the right-hand pocket instead, and Aziraphale would offer to give it away no longer, he insisted.

That same principality also carried a rapidly decreasing portion of churros and chocolate sauce.

"…Never said we couldn't get a tree, Angel. Just said it's a stupid tradition. The whole thing is."

"I  _ know _ it is, but it's  _ tradition _ . Of course we both know that poor man was born in early April, that there were no trees anywhere near, and that his mother was-"

"-You know what, I think we  _ should _ get a tree, actually. Get some hideous decorations, hamburger baubles or something-"

"-I was there, did you know? When he was born."

"Thought you were in Nazareth?"

"I was, yes. Gabriel had been doing me the… honour of staying with me at my abode in Nazareth and I simply had to get away for a little while, he'd been awfully bigheaded since the Annunciation. So I went on a short vacation to Bethlehem – he'd heard a lot of good things - but it was  _ awfully _ busy that weekend, terrible queues to all the sights. Got the last room at the inn, in fact."

"You did what?"

"I got the very last room at the inn."

"…Right. Good for you."

"It was, rather. Lovely room. Very good mattress, new straw, certainly. Very few bedbuggers."

" _ Bugs _ , Angel, bedbugs."

"Yes, well. The food left something to be desired, of course, but at least it was only a few years until we were assigned to Rome, wasn't it?..."

The mismatched couple passed out of the picture-perfect frame and returned the way they had left roughly twenty minutes later, the angel carrying a thoroughly verdant, voluptuous and only somewhat terrified twelve-foot-tall Christmas tree across his shoulder and the demon carrying twelve hideously glittery baubles as well as a beige coat on and around his corporation  _ as a favour to the angel and  _ _ only as a favour to the angel _ .

"Hang on, we've gotta get one of those little angels to pop on top of it."

The angel turned around to stare daggers at the demon, knocking out an off-duty Santa on the way to the pub with the other end Christmas tree. Neither of them noticed. "Don't you  _ dare _ , fiend."

"But it's  _ tradition _ , Angel."

"We'll get a star instead. For the top of the tree."

"I –  _ oh _ \- erh…"

Aziraphale glanced at him with a secret, knowing little smile.

"You can put it on there, my dear. Arrange it just the way you'd like."

Crowley sniffed. It  _ was  _ very cold, and the drizzly rain got into his face. He blinked a few times to get rid of it. "That'd be… that'd be nice."

"For old times' sake."

"For – yeah, sure. For old times' sake."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Acting Christmas](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26649031) by [EdnaV](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EdnaV/pseuds/EdnaV)




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